When I Hit Him
by dancingdragon3
Summary: Set during the episode "The Wall". Peter's POV, and thoughts on his "relationship" with Sylar.  Violence, swearing, UST.


Title: When I Hit Him  
>Author: dancingdragon3<br>Pairing: Peter and Sylar  
>Rating: T for language<br>Warnings: physical abuse  
>Length: drabble<br>Summary: Peter's thoughts during _The Wall_. Takes place during the first month, before the roof scene.  
>Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC.<p>

I love the way he looks at me when I hit him.

Like he loves it. Like he'd let me do it forever. He's my bitch, and I love it.

I'm starting to love it more than I hate it, and that scares me.

When my fists kiss his gorgeous face I become the whole world for him. I own him, and it's been that way long before now.

The first time I noticed it was in the hallway at Primatech. I couldn't believe it when he stopped fighting back and just looked up at me in...worship. I lied to him then. It wasn't all my powers, or the recent addition of his that made me feel so powerful, so special. It was the way he was looking at me. I hadn't just beaten him, he had surrendered. To me. Special doesn't begin to cover the way that made me feel.

It was only later that I remembered seeing that look in Kirby Plaza too.

I was honestly surprised that he fought back so hard in the hospital. Either killing Nathan or being my big brother for a while must have made him forget who was really on top in this relationship. But when I saw that nail gun...I knew I had him. He was already getting into it. I could tell he was entering the zone when I threw him on top of that table. But the gun. He had killed my brother. The least I could do in return was take this...whatever, to the next level. Bring on some serious pain. Sylar was obviously on the same track. Why else would he just lie back and take it?

Talk about bringing out the worst in people. How sick am I to fucking nail any man, let alone that one, to a table, knowing we would both get off on it? Wanting him to. I had to prove to him that he hadn't beaten me. That even after he had torn my heart out, I could still dominate him, still make him see only me. And boy did I.

I fucked him up but good. His pupils were so wide, anyone else would've been sure he was doping. But it was just me. Well, me and a few nails. I knew he was hard before I shot the first one. After that, I don't think he even realized how much he was thrusting, trying to find my body with his own. Shooting him in the thigh was the closest I was willing to go to giving him what he wanted. Piercing him with those nails...I can't imagine using my dick would feel any better.

Even so, I was glad when he taunted me into throwing the gun away. Skin to skin, fist to face. That's the best. That's what we really like.

I wonder if he could tell how hard I was? That the only reason I wasn't full on straddling him, was that I was afraid I would come in about two seconds? That he would too, and then what would that mean? It's kinda difficult to come back from something like that.

And now here we are, completely alone together. With nothing to do but fight. My knuckles and his face have been bruised more days than not. It's sick, but every time I try to stop it, try to avoid him, he find's me, pushes all the right buttons, until he's got his fix. Until were both bleeding, and panting, and so fucking turned on.

What's even worse is how Sylar is the one trying to take it to the next level now. I've stopped him grinding against me the last three times, his bloody mouth laughing and moaning. And every time I jerk away, put space between us, he just leans back onto what ever surface I've thrown him against and stares at me with those dark, sinful eyes. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind as to what he is offering. What he'll let me do. How far he'll let me go.

He's been bringing me things lately. Gifts. Tokens of affection? I think that may be even more sick than the domestic violence routine we've got going. Or maybe it's just adding to it. Either way it's got to stop.

The last time, I was leaving him sprawled half on top of his desk, shirt torn open and blood all over. He licked his lips, and I took a step back towards him. I knew I was in trouble when I had to make myself leave his apartment. I'm sure he knows it too. He's getting more confidant. He knows it's only a matter of time until I can no longer turn away from what's building between us and take what he's offering up so beautifully. Submission wrapped in arrogant defiance.

I can't give in to this. I can't fuck my brother's killer. I've got to stay strong, stay away from him. And for God's sake, I have got to stop hitting him. Because if I don't...I won't be able to look at myself anymore.

I love the way he looks at me when I hit him.

I'm afraid to see how he'll look at me if I fuck him.


End file.
